


"Lunch"

by cleo4u2, xantissa



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Artist!Steve, Domestic Avengers, First Dates, Getting Together, M/M, Modern!Steve, Non-Serum Steve Rogers/Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes | Shrinkyclinks, Smol!Steve, recovering Bucky Barnes, weird courtships, wrong number fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-09-06
Packaged: 2019-06-11 00:04:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15303018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cleo4u2/pseuds/cleo4u2, https://archiveofourown.org/users/xantissa/pseuds/xantissa
Summary: Bucky Barnes, the feared Winter Soldier, is working hard at becoming a person again. He doesn't understand a lot of the modern world, yet, but he Avengers help him with that when they can. They don't always get it right.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by our wonderful Beta, [NurseDarry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NurseDarry/profile), when she gave me palpitations over what it meant to have "lunch". Also thanks to the chat - you know who you are - for enabling my shenanigans.

It had been a year since the Winter Soldier broke his programming. A year of debriefing, reassimilation, therapy, and ‘team bonding’. Stark had insisted on the bonding, says it was good for the Avengers to be close. Bucky - because he felt more like a _he_ than an _it_ these days - thought Stark was just lonely. Which was fine; Bucky was often lonely despite living in the Tower with the others.

When they were not out saving the world, they mostly keep to themselves. Bucky had learned everyone's routine - just in case - and while he was always cleaning his firearms in the afternoon, Tony was always in his lab, Bruce would be going over his morning's notes, and Clint would be at the range. Thor and Natasha would either be sparring, getting coffee, or lounging about the pool. They're all predictable. Once, when Bucky had been the Soldier - it, not he - he would have thought it dangerous. Now, he knew it was a coping mechanism. When they fought villains and aliens and monsters, they couldn't control who lived and who died. Here they could control their surroundings, find comfort in repetition.

Besides, Bucky liked cleaning his guns. He liked it enough that he scowled when his phone chimed, alerting him to a new text message. Since only the Avengers had his number, he picked it up and unlocked it despite his irritation. It could be important, like that time Clint had gotten himself locked inside a dumpster in Bed Stuy.

Unknown Number: I'm having “lunch".

Bucky scowled, tilted the phone to the side, but the message didn't make any more sense from another angle. Without the quotes, he would have understood: this person wanted him to know they were having lunch. With the quotes, Bucky wasn't sure what they were trying to convey, and he was a little unsettled.

Okay, he was a lot unsettled. For a man from the 1930’s, he’d come back to himself in a very unfamiliar world. The unfamiliar was more than a little worrying. The unfamiliar was dangerous. His therapist said he overreacted, and he was usually correct, but that didn't stop the tension tossing his stomach around like a boat lost in a hurricane.

With anxiety building in his belly, Bucky stood and went to find someone who would understand.

\----

“Stark,” Bucky said in greeting upon entering the lab. Startling Stark usually ended badly, like that time he’d created a wormhole into the past when Clint had fallen out of an air vent during spy tag. They'd spent days chasing down all the dinosaurs.

“Manchurian Candidate!” Stark crowed. Bucky had stopped looking up all the names Stark called him, but he knew that one at least. “How can I help you this fine afternoon?”

Bucky hesitated a moment. Stark was in an exceptionally good mood and he wasn't sure if he should flee. If he left, though, he wouldn't have an answer to his question and that sounded worse than the wariness inspired by Stark on a science high.

“I received a text -"

“Congratulations.”

“- and I'm not sure what it means to have quote, lunch, end quote.”

“That's easy,” Tony said without even pulling his head from inside the silver chest of the Iron Man suit he was working on, “your buddy had alcohol for a meal.”

“That would be unhealthy,” Bucky said with a frown, his worries turning to this person. He could find them, if he needed to. It wouldn't be that hard, but Natasha kept saying he had to avoid crossing privacy boundaries. Bucky wasn't entirely sure what that meant, but he did know that tracking someone through satellites ‘crossed the line’.

Tony shrugged.

“Some days suck.”

Frowning harder, Bucky remembered to say thank you before he left. If this person was an alcoholic, he would send them the location of several AA meetings in New York. They all had them in their phones after Tony’s last bender.

\----

Thirty minutes later, Bucky was still worried about “lunch". Well, he was worried about the person who had had “lunch". The more he thought about it, the more he wondered if Stark was right. He usually was, and had always gone out of his way to teach Bucky about the modern world. But sometimes he saw things only through the lenses of his own experience. Which was great, except that few people experienced anything like Tony Stark.

As expected, Bucky found Clint at the range. Well, above the range. Specifically hanging upside down off an exposed rafter so his hair stood on end. Or fell? Bucky wasn't sure what the proper description was for someone upside down.

“Hey,” Clint called as Bucky entered, causing his face to tug up in an involuntary smile. Of all the Avengers, Clint was Bucky’s favorite.

“Hey,” Bucky called back. He stopped below Clint’s dangling hair, crossed his arms, and watched as an arrow sank into the center of the target one hundred yards away. “What’s it mean when someone refers to lunch in quotes?”

“Like air quotes?”

Another arrow nestled against the first.

“It was a text message. They had ‘lunch’.” Bucky used air quotes when he said the word in question.

“Zombies!” Clint declared.

While Bucky liked zombies as much as Clint, they were still, “Fictional.”

Not to be deterred, Clint said, “Cannibalism,” with relish.

“Maybe,” Bucky conceded. He'd read a Tumblr post about cannibalism just the other day, how it was mainly responsible for causing prion diseases, like mad cow. If the text messenger was eating people, he was in a lot of trouble. Rogue proteins were no joke. “Thanks.”

“Yep,” Clint called as Bucky headed for the door, phone in hand. It didn't take him long to find the post, which he quickly forwarded to the unknown number.

There had been no response, but Bucky thought he should keep asking. Tony had had a completely different answer than Clint. Clint had had two answers, in fact. He was going to have to ask everyone to be sure he knew what was going on.

\----

Startling Bruce went as well as startling Tony, so Bucky sat down across from him at the common room dining table and waited for Bruce to notice him. 

It took twenty minutes.

Bruce hummed, sipped his coffee, and then blinked slowly at Bucky like he wasn't quite sure if he was there or not. Bucky worried about Bruce.

“Um,” Bruce stammered, “Yes?”

“What is the meaning of quote, lunch, unquote.”

Bruce frowned and pushed his glasses higher up his nose.

“Where did you see that?”

“It was texted to me,” Bucky said.

“I see.” 

Bucky didn't think Bruce saw at all and was regretting asking him. He shouldn't have disturbed Bruce’s note-reading. It was important… for some reason. Science, maybe.

Bruce tried to push his glasses up his nose again, but there wasn't any place for them to go, and asked, “Have you ever heard of anorexia?”

Shaking his head, Bucky leaned forward. Maybe he would learn something after all.

“It’s a disease, a disease of the mind. People - both men and women - become obsessed with how much they weigh. Subsequently, they become obsessed with how much they eat. They find ways not to, starving their bodies in an effort to be thinner. It's very dangerous.”

Bucky could follow what Bruce was implying.

“You think they didn't eat,” he said.

“I think it's a very real possibility. People with anorexia usually try to hide it, joking about meals and like. It would be worth it to at least reach out, let your friend know you're there if they need you.”

Now more worried than ever, Bucky nodded. ‘Being there’ for people was still one of those things Bucky had to work on. Still, his therapist always said there was no time like the present to do better. He would ‘be there’, whatever that meant.

As he went to find Natasha, he found an online support group for people with anorexia and sent that link to the unknown number. Whatever they needed, Bucky would be there.

\----

“Friend Winter!” Thor’s voice boomed the moment the elevator doors opened. “How are you this fine afternoon?”

“Alright,” Bucky said, glancing around the training room without catching sight of Natasha. He liked Thor, but they guy had too much energy. It was exhausting to be around him. Bucky had no idea how Natasha did it. “Where’s Tasha?”

“Rinsing off the sweat from our sparring.” Thor gestured toward the showers. “She shall return soon enough.”

Sighing, Bucky nodded and gave their resident god the once-over. He wasn't sweating, but his hair looked damp like Natasha had given him a good workout.

“So, um,” Bucky started and Thor smiled brilliantly at him.

“How can I be of service, friend Winter?”

Bucky already wanted a nap.

“I got this text,” he said, because why the hell not. He was waiting here anyway. “They referred to a meal in quotations. I don't know what it means.”

“Like, ‘dinner’,” Thor asked, air quotes and everything.

“Yeah,” Bucky said with a nod.

Thor nodded, resting an elbow on his knee as he leaned forward toward Bucky. Did his elbows have muscles? Bucky was pretty sure his _elbows_ had _muscles_.

“Once, on a visit to Alfheim, my brother ate a tree and called it ‘breakfast’,” those air quotes again, “He was a horse at the time, but perchance the sentiment is the same? Your friend did not eat what a human would consider food.”

Frowning, Bucky considered that. It made sense, but he wasn't sure how he could ‘be there’ for someone who wasn't eating normal food. He'd had trouble with that when he'd first broken Hydra’s programming, so perhaps what had helped him would help his friend.

Pulling out his phone, Bucky texted, “Want to get dinner?” and looked up as Natasha returned, towling her hair dry, the red strands striking against the white cotton.

“James,” she greeted him, a smile flitting at the corners of her mouth. “Did you want to join us?”

“Friend Winter has a question of meaning,” Thor answered for him. 

“And what's that?” Natasha asked like Thor’s statement had made perfect sense.

“I was texted I'm having lunch, with the lunch in quotes. I don't know what it means.”

Natasha gave him a long look, then held out her hand for the phone. Bucky didn't unlock it, but it didn't stop her from getting past his lock code and opening his messages. She took one look, rolled her eyes, and tossed the phone back to Bucky.

“He sent it at 3:30pm. It wasn't lunch time.”

Opening his mouth, Bucky changed his mind and closed it again. That was so _simple_. Too simple. Could it really be that simple?

The phone in his hand buzzed as his text notification chimed.

“Pool?” Natasha asked Thor.

“Please,” Thor nodded, heaving his impressive bulk up from the bench.

“See you ‘round, James,” Natasha called and they were gone, leaving Bucky staring between the closed elevator doors and his phone, uncertain if he should look at the message now that he knew he'd gotten everything so… wrong. The simplest answer was always the best, after all.

Yet, he couldn't ‘be there’ if he didn't at least look at the new text.

 **Unknown Number** : You think I'm an anorexic, alcoholic cannibal, and you want to go out with me?

Sighing, Bucky answered honestly.

 **Bucky** : I didn't know what ‘lunch’ meant. My friends lead me astray

 **Unknown Number** : But you tried to help me?

 **Unknown Number** : If you're in NYC, I'd love to get dinner. You seem nice

 **Unknown Number** : I'm Steve

Bucky smiled, liking how fast Steve could type. It was strange to when there were several conversations happening in the same text conversation. He had the feeling that wouldn't happen with Steve.

After typing Steve into his contacts, Bucky sent his own name in return.

 **Bucky** : I go by Bucky most days. You want to meet me at Coney Island? We can get hot dogs and walk the boardwalk

 **Steve** : Sounds like a date, Bucky. You sure you want to go on a date with a guy?

 **Bucky** : I have been informed it is legal for two men to court each other. Even engage in matrimony

After he sent the text, Bucky frowned. He sounded like Thor. That was not good. Typing quickly, to sound _normal_ , he sent, “I just wanted to be there if you needed someone. It doesn't have to be a date.”

 **Steve** : Oh no. You don't get out of it that easy. It's a date, mister. See you at 7?

 **Bucky** : Yes. How will I know you?

It would be so much easier if Bucky could just investigate Steve; who he was, what he looked like… and find out everything else there was to know about him.

 **Steve** : I'll be wearing a rainbow scarf by the ticket machines

 **Bucky** : Okay. See you then

 **Steve** : :)

Bucky smiled. He knew what that meant.


	2. Chapter 2

Steve knew what he was doing was stupid. Of course, that hadn’t stopped him from showing up to the Coney Island subway station at 6:40. The minutes ticked away as he waited and fidgeted, hands buried in the pocket of his favorite green hoodie. It was worn, a bit faded, but it was a comfort. Plus, it matched the green in his Pride scarf. As date night outfits went, it wasn’t the fanciest, but this wasn’t your standard date.

Biting his lip, Steve scuffed the toe of his black hightops against the concrete as he remembered the weird texts he’d gotten that morning. Weird, definitely, but each with an underlying sweetness. 

No… sweetness wasn’t the right word. There wasn’t really one word that summed up the feeling Steve had gotten from the texts. Bucky had been trying to reach out, to help, even if the attempts had been clumsy and ridiculous. The effort Bucky had put in for a complete stranger spoke to Steve. He wanted to get to know Bucky, hence why he was at the station early, waiting, hoping he wasn’t about to spend his last evening on Earth with a serial killer.

A pair of scuffed combat boots stopped before Steve and a deep, rich voice asked, “Steve?” 

Steve looked up, and then up. and up and up. The guy was _tall_ , at least six feet, with long, brown hair tied back behind his head. He was dressed as casually as Steve in navy jeans held up by a belt, a black, leather jacket, and a plain, white shirt. To Steve’s immense surprise, he knew the man’s face. His piercing blue eyes, darkly handsome features with cheekbones that could cut glass, and cleft chin had been splashed all over the news for months after that whole Insight thing. Bucky was Bucky Barnes, the freaking Winter Soldier.

“Holy shit,” Steve blurted. A nervous glint crept into Bucky’s eyes, and he tensed. Steve wanted to kick himself. It wasn’t Bucky’s fault he’d been kidnapped, brainwashed, and set against his own country. Christ, he’d been acquitted of all charges. He was an _Avenger_ , and here was Steve being a complete heel. His mom would have his head.

There was nothing for it now, but Steve could make up for his blunder.

“Sorry,” he said, “just didn’t expect to recognize my blind date.”

Still looking infinitely uncomfortable, Bucky started to say, “If you don’t want to,” but Steve wasn’t about to let that line of thinking continue.

“I want.” Pulling his hand from his hoodie, he grabbed Bucky’s left hand and squeezed. The metal didn’t give, but Bucky stared down at their hands in wonder. “You owe me Nathan’s and a moonlit stroll.”

Carefully, as if afraid he might break Steve, Bucky threaded their fingers together. 

“Okay.”

Steve grinned and tugged, pulling Bucky along behind him.

As they headed toward Luna Park, Steve said, “Normally I’d ask what you do for a living, but instead I’ll put us on even footing and tell _you_ that I’m an artist. I’ve got my own on-line webcomic, but I’ve done a couple book cover illustrations. Building up my portfolio, you know?”

“I do not know,” Bucky said slowly.

Surprised, Steve considered that before asking, “Do you want me to tell you?”

“Please,” Bucky murmured. Steve snuck a look at him from the corner of his eye. Bucky was _blushing_. God, he was kind of adorable for a world-class assassin. 

_Former_ assassin, Steve corrected himself.

“Artists build up a portfolio to showcase their talent.” Now that they’re on the street just outside of the station, there were dozens more people. Steve walked closer to Bucky, their arms and sides brushing even as they held each other’s hands tightly. “When I do work for pay, or just a piece I’m particularly fond of, I put it in my portfolio. Then I take my portfolio to job interviews, or send a digital copy, if it’s an online commission.”

“Like a resume,” Bucky said. His voice carried easily despite the crush of noise from the park, the boardwalk, and the people around them. It was deep and rich; each word chosen with care. Steve thought he could listen to it all day.

“Exactly like a resume.” Steve beamed up at Bucky. Even though he was looking away, likely checking to see if they could cross the street, he colored just a bit deeper, and wasn’t _that_ flattering? “I’m hoping to have a gallery opening, or a comic book done one day.”

“But you have the webcomic?” Bucky asked, his tone one of mild confusion.

“Yeah,” Steve shrugged a shoulder, “but it’s not the same. There’s just something about _paper_ that says you really made it.” Bucky frowned, either because he didn’t understand, or at the large group of kids hollering at each other on the other side of the street. “Maybe it’s silly,” Steve conceded to that furrowed brow, “but that’s the same as I felt about my first book cover illustration. I could hold it. I knew people had it in their homes. It’s… special.”

“Ah,” Bucky said with the finality of understanding, “Tangibility.”

They crossed against the light and joined the crush heading up the ramps toward Luna Park, or the boardwalk behind it. Steve looked up at Bucky, a man who had been _brainwashed_ , and thought he probably understood better than Steve could have hoped. 

“I used to sketch,” Bucky said. He was still watching their surroundings, so Steve kept close to his side and trusted him to lead them. “Back,” he waved a hand, indicating decades, “when.”

“Why’d you stop?” Steve asked before his brain caught up with his mouth.

Sure enough, Bucky scowled.

“I…” The scowl shifted into a confused frown and Steve didn’t feel quite so guilty. “I’m not sure.” 

“Well,” Steve said carefully, “if you start up again, I’d love to see your work.”

“You would?” Bucky asked, and the surprise in his voice was a little heartbreaking.

“Hell, yeah,” Steve said, smiling up at Bucky again. “I mean, no pressure, of course.”

Bucky chuckled, and Steve shivered at the sound. They reached the boardwalk, footsteps thumping on the wood beneath them. The wind picked up as they escaped the protection of the boardwalk’s shops, bringing the scent of the sea. Waves crashed in the distance, the white glowing with the reflected brilliance of the Park and nearby shops.

As usual, Nathan’s was packed, the line stretching far enough back that Steve could see it from where they were. They headed that way anyway. Steve hoped Bucky would agree that Nathan’s was worth the wait.

“What do you do now, if you don’t sketch?” Steve asked, before quickly clarifying, “I mean, hobby-wise. I know about the whole superhero thing.”

“You’re, um,” Bucky rubbed his finger along the side of his nose, “taking it rather well.”

“The superhero thing?” Steve asked. 

Bucky nodded.

“I’m…” Bucky gestured vaguely with his hands. “People are usually more… excitable about it.”

“Well,” Steve drawled, “I did shout ‘holy shit’ at you.” 

With a harsh snort, Bucky nodded. It was oddly adorable, considering it was a _snort_.

“Fair enough,” Bucky said, and flashed him an incredibly charming smile. Steve’s knees went weak. Bucky had _dimples_. “I assume you don’t swear at all your dates?”

“Only in bed,” Steve’s mouth said, completely without his permission.

As Steve blushed, Bucky barked out a laugh, throwing his head back as he did. In that moment, Steve knew he was doomed. Bucky was so damned gorgeous, he laughed at Steve’s stupid jokes, and he was _kind_. If this was their only date, he’d be heartbroken. 

Bucky stopped laughing as they got to the back of the line. This time, his smile promised wicked, filthy things, and Steve’s cock twitched with eager interest. 

Before Bucky could say something likely suave, sexy, and all too flustering, Steve said, “Have you been to Nathan’s since…” he made the same gesture Bucky had to indicate his time with Hydra. Thankfully, Bucky didn’t scowl.

“Sort of.” Bucky released Steve’s hand, but curled his arm through Steve’s and tucked both hands into his pockets. Without hesitating, Steve leaned against his side and hoped he didn’t look as lovestruck as he felt, staring up at Bucky’s beautiful face. “Tony brought some for lunch, once.”

“Is it the same?” Steve asked. 

“Not really.” Bucky shrugged, like it didn’t matter. “Everything tastes different, really. Tony and Bruce think it’s the preservatives. Food’s still good.”

Steve mulled that over, looking toward the yellow and red stand. They’d passed the original building on their way here, but Steve preferred the stand by the sea, and eating outside with the wind and the waves. 

Frowning, Steve asked, “You ever hear about hot dog contests?”

“Hot dog contests?” Bucky repeated. “Like, who can make a better hot dog?”

Steve smiled. He could practically hear what Bucky hadn’t asked: What was the point in that? 

“No.” Steve shook his head, still smiling, and looked from the menu back up at Bucky. This time he caught his gaze and almost forgot what he was talking about. “H-hot dog contests are when a bunch of dudes, um, they all compete to see who can eat the most hot dogs in ten minutes.” Bucky blinked. “Nathan’s says they’ve been going on since 1916, but there’s no _proof_ …”

“Ah,” Bucky said, that same tone of finality in the syllable. “Never heard of that. Pretty ridiculous, if you ask me. What’s the point?”

Chuckling, Steve shrugged.

“To prove something?”

“What’re you provin’ by eating a dozen hotdogs?”

“Six dozen,” Steve corrected mildly. 

Bucky stiffened.

“ _What_?”

“That’s the record,” Steve said, smiling at Bucky because it wasn’t often he got to surprise people like that. Or maybe just because he couldn’t stop smiling around Bucky. “Seventy-two hot dogs in ten minutes.” 

“ _How_?” Bucky demanded. “Seventy… Jesus, that’s…” Something passed over Bucky’s face and he looked up at Nathan’s. “I could do that.”

Steve laughed. When Bucky looked down at him, Steve laughed harder, until he was practically hanging off Bucky’s arm to stay on his feet. He couldn’t help it. 

“What?” Bucky huffed. “It’s not that funny.”

Wheezing, Steve choked out, “Oh, oh it _is_.” He wiped at his eyes, steadied himself, and followed Bucky as the line moved forward. “What’re you provin’ by eating six dozen hotdogs?”

At that, Bucky laughed. It wasn’t as helpless as Steve’s, but it was hearty.

“You got me there, pal.”

Nodding, Steve leaned harder against Bucky. When Bucky stiffened, Steve swallowed and started to pull back, but Bucky was faster. He pulled his arm from Steve’s grasp and looped it around his shoulders. Now Steve was pressed to Bucky’s side, his cheek against his chest, and had little option but to wrap his own arm around Bucky’s waist. 

Steve swallowed hard, chest full from how _intimate_ it was. Neither of them spoke as the line moved forward, slowly but surely. Bucky’s heartbeat steadily against his ear, a rhythm as soothing as waves pounding the shore. The screams from the park and the loud rumble of so many people talking around them faded away. There was just Bucky’s heartbeat, his arm heavy on Steve’s shoulders, and his waist firm against Steve’s arm.

As they approached the counter, Bucky asked, “What do you want?”

“Chilli dog,” Steve said, hoping the words weren’t muffled enough he’d have to move his head.

“Drink?” Steve nodded and Bucky brought them to the window. He ordered for them both and paid before Steve could reach for his wallet.

“Cheater,” Steve mumbled, but Bucky just laughed at him. Softly, but laughed at him nonetheless.

To Steve’s infinite displeasure, they had to part when the food arrived. Sighing, Steve took his food when Bucky passed it to him, and headed toward the far end of the boardwalk. There was no way they’d find an open table at this time of night. Maybe a bench, but Steve wouldn’t mind standing if they could lean on a rail and watch the park. He loved the bright lights and the distant figures enjoying the night. There were more than a few paintings of it in his portfolio.

“I love it here,” Steve said. There wasn’t a bench in sight, so it was the railing after all. They settled with their backs against it, bodies turned toward each other. As if Bucky itched to touch him as much as Steve itched to touch Bucky.

“It’s… something.” 

Steve frowned, eating steadily and watching the park. 

“What did it used to look like?”

Chewing thoughtfully, Bucky swallowed and said, “We had the Cyclone, and all the people,” he gestured with his drink, “but most people left before nightfall, and if you didn’t…” He shrugged. “The light isn’t the same.”

“The light,” Steve repeated.

Bucky nodded, took another bite and chewed before he answered.

“It wasn’t the same. Dunno why. The lights are crisper, now. Whiter. They were… muddy. And yellow.”

As he absorbed that, Steve turned back to the park and tried to imagine it. He doubted he got it right. Less people, fewer lights, and _different_ light. Yellow light. Maybe foggy, or hazy. He squinted, then shook his head. It was probably pointless, since he hadn’t seen it himself.

Bucky shuffled and flexed his right hand for the third time in thirty seconds and Steve gave him a good, long look. That blue gaze wasn’t darting, but it wasn’t holding still either. Bucky was taking in everything about them in a slow scan that never really stopped. Left to right, then back after a flicker over his shoulder. That group of kids from earlier let out a particularly raucous bought of laughter and Bucky’s gaze snapped to them. His shoulders tensed. Then he flexed his right hand into a fist, shuffled his feet, and deliberately relaxed. 

All at once, Steve understood what was happening. There were too many people around and Bucky was uncomfortable. He was a superhero, used to battling super _villains_. He was, or had been, suffering from some kind of PTSD as well, and here was Steve, bringing him into the second crowdest place in New York with people literally screaming on nearby amusement park rides. Steve hadn’t known who Bucky was, of course, and he couldn’t exactly ask if he was all right as that was sure to be embarrassing. 

Crumpling his foil and cardboard, Steve tossed the lot and his drink in the trash and pointed his head towards the beach.

“Come on. Let’s do that walk.”

Bucky didn’t show any signs of relief, but he did turn quickly away from the brightly lit boardwalk and followed Steve down the steps to the beach. Neither of them were wearing the right shoes for this, if there were any shoes made for walking on sand, so they kept going until they reached where the ocean had packed the sand to hard earth and they were as far from people and lights as they could get.

Quietly, Bucky wrapped his arm around Steve again. With a contented sigh, Steve leaned against Bucky again and held on to him as well. It was shockingly natural, easy, to be so close to Bucky. Like they were made to fit together.

“I’m glad I texted you,” Steve murmured.

Bucky stopped and turned, standing before Steve without putting any space between them. Steve had to lean his head back nearly all the way to look up at Bucky, but he didn’t mind, not when his heart was pounding. It had been a long time since he’d been on a date, let alone one that had gone this well.

“Me too,” Bucky said, his words hushed. “I haven’t…” Bucky cleared his throat, then brushed strands of Steve’s hair off his forehead. “I haven’t enjoyed myself this much in a long time.”

Warmth curled through Steve, from his toes to his chest, and he whispered, “I’m too short to kiss you.”

Bucky’s teeth flashed white in the night and he bent his neck, hand going to the back of Steve’s nape. Holding his breath and holding completely still, Steve’s eyes closed, and then Bucky’s lips brushed against his. It was a sweet, chaste brush followed by another, then yet another. When Bucky pulled away, Steve’s lips _tingled_ , and he gasped for breath.

The smile on Bucky’s lips was soft and sweet, his thumb caressing beneath Steve’s ear. Steve’s heart melted into a puddle at their feet.

“Wow,” he said, because he was _smooth_.

Bucky chuckled and leaned down again. 

“And tangible,” he purred. Then he was kissing Steve again. This kiss was full of promise and heat, but no faster than the first. Bucky massaged his lips, then teased them open with just the tip of his tongue. Steve’s hands clenched and opened spasmodically as Bucky’s tongue captured his entire being, darting into Steve’s mouth, twining with his own tongue, then retreating to brush his lips again. His teeth tugged softly at Steve’s lower lip, and then he was pulling back again, eyes hooded.

Steve stared up at him dumbly for many long, empty minutes. Then he grabbed Bucky’s hand and started marching them back toward the boardwalk.

“Where are we going?” Bucky asked, confusion thick in his tone.

“I’m taking you home,” Steve said, feeling his ears heat up as he blushed, “To swear at you some more.”

Bucky’s hand squeezed his, then twined firmly with his fingers, as he purred, “I like the way you think.”

Glancing over at him, Steve smiled slowly and slowed down so they could walk side by side again. Tonight had gone better than Steve had ever imagined. There was just one thing left to clear up.

“I don’t really do one night stands,” he warned.

“Good.” Bucky smiled and pulled Steve close to his side. “Neither do I.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come and visit us on Tumblr
> 
> [xantissa](http://xantissa.tumblr.com)
> 
> [Cleo4u2](http://cleo4u2.tumblr.com)


End file.
